– 7 –

Exchange

Magnolia heads turn away
a card reads—
I’ve been working my arse off.
I stand, scanning the box for more.
There are nubs of blossom
and a fly enacting
a round-about
version of summer.

At the Post Office
I use a pen chained like a plug
to address my usual gurgle
maybe suck you in.
I send it
to a photograph of you
crowded by monuments
at the start of your winter.